


Taking Care Of A Problem

by aterribleinfluence



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Erotic Dreams, F/M, Idiots in lust, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy, basically filthy filthy porn, passive aggressive blowjobs, season one, sex on the council table is my very specific kink, slightly dubcon in chapter two but only in dream form, thought I should throw in a warning to be on the safe side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2018-11-04 22:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aterribleinfluence/pseuds/aterribleinfluence
Summary: "Arguing with Abby is addictive; infuriating and exhilarating all at once, and in his fevered imagination he knows fucking her would be the same."Set in season one, in which Kane and Abby are incredibly hot for each other and really pissed off about it.  They both have their own ways of relieving the tension...





	1. Chapter 1

Councillor Marcus Kane strides down the corridor, sending people scurrying away as he passes, throwing him nervous looks over their shoulders, no doubt wondering what could have caused his foul mood. Or perhaps they can guess – surely anyone who knows him will be able to without much difficulty, he thinks sourly. In any case, Marcus can only imagine what his face looks like, set in cold fury as he stalks through the Ark, daring anyone to stop him for any reason.

When he gets back to his quarters he only just prevents himself from slamming the door behind him, realising at the last second that to do so wouldn’t create the most professional impression to anyone walking past. It’s fine to be seen to be angry, but as the head of the Guard he always has to appear as if he’s at least in control of himself.

He doesn’t _feel_ in control. He feels edgy, restless and frustrated, his pulse pounding, his nerve endings livewires beneath his skin. He paces back and forth across the room, unable to keep still, running his hands through his hair – a habit of frustration he used to have as a boy that always creeps back to him at times like this. He needs to calm down, to distract himself somehow, but it’s impossible with the meeting he’s just come from replaying on endless loops in his mind.

He can’t shake the image of Councillor Abigail Griffin glaring at him from across the table, can’t forget the pointed viciousness of their debate, can’t rid himself of the certain knowledge that she was _enjoying_ tearing down every point he made, scoring points off him. Beating him is _personal_ for her, he knows it is.

Marcus resists the urge to kick the table leg to relieve his feelings.

She has already won this round – the debate may have been postponed but she knows it, he knows it, everyone knows it. Just by making him lose his temper she has claimed victory over him, forced a crack in his carefully professional facade. It’s a humiliation, and one Marcus is sure she’s revelling in. She’s probably celebrating right now, discussing with her fellow Councillors about how unreasonable he was being. Crowing over her success.

And that isn’t the worst part.

The truth is that Marcus is mad as hell, and he’s also unbelievably turned on – desperately, _achingly_ hard now – which doesn’t help. He tries to ignore it, tries to believe that it’s coincidence, nothing more. Nothing to do with the woman who has wound him up to such a pitch that he feels as if he might explode, start slamming doors or punching the walls or else—

Abby Griffin is a problem. She’s _always_ been a problem; they’ve never seen eye-to-eye and these days she truly hates him, he thinks, looks at him with real contempt and never speaks to him but to throw a sharp retort or a sarcastic jibe. She’s not intimidated by him either, is one of the few people who never has been. Of course, if asked, Marcus would say that he’s never taken any _pleasure_ in intimidating people, it’s just an unfortunately necessary part of the job – and that’s true enough, for most people, but for some reason Abby Griffin’s refusal to be cowed by his threats or to treat him as anything more than an annoyance is _infuriating._ It’s like an itch he can’t quite scratch, turning every minor disagreement with her into a blazing row.

She gets under his skin. Even now when he closes his eyes he can still see the defiant look on her face, her lips curling into a mocking smirk as the other Council members sided with her over him. The way she leaned across the table, the neckline of her shirt dipping slightly as she explained to him in that low, maddeningly reasonable tone of hers exactly how wrong he was.

His cock _twitches_ , pressing hard against the fabric of his pants. Marcus stops pacing, tries breathe deeply, to calm himself. He has already lost far too much of his self-control today.

Another Council meeting ended badly, and it was Abby Griffin’s fault, as usual. It had turned into an argument; hell, it had almost come to blows. Yes he had lost his temper – she has that effect on him. They had ended up face to face, snarling at each other, completely oblivious to their fellow Councillors as they hurled barbs and shouted over each other, inches apart. Marcus had curled his hands into fists at his sides, trembling with the effort of stopping himself from seizing her by the arms and physically shaking some sense into her.

At least, that was what he told himself he had wanted to do. Certain parts of his body had other ideas.

The tension is coiling again in the pit of his stomach, anger flaring in a potent mixture with something else entirely. Stubborn, self-righteous, _infuriating_ woman, standing there with her eyes burning and her face flushed with anger, her chest heaving with every panting, furious breath she took...

Oh Christ, his cock needs _urgent_ attention. Ignoring the state he’s in is useless – Marcus fumbles with the fastening of his pants, pushing them down so he can grasp his throbbing erection, letting out a moan of relief at the first touch of his hand. He sinks down onto the edge of his bed and lets his eyes close as he strokes himself, forcing himself to go slowly.

_Abby..._

He shouldn’t think of her like this, he _knows_ he shouldn’t, knows that it’s stupid and pathetic and she’d tear him apart if she knew. But he can’t help it; he’s only human after all and she’s so _unbelievably_ gorgeous, startlingly, effortlessly desirable, and the fact that she despises him somehow just makes the idea of being with her even more perversely arousing. Sometimes Marcus doesn’t know which he wants more – to throw her in a cell to rot or shove her up against the nearest wall and fuck her senseless. Maybe some combination of both. Oh _yes._

He imagines what it would be like; how their kisses would bruise, swollen lips and panting breaths, how her teeth would dig into him and leave blossoming marks along his skin. He imagines her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands under her clothes, clutching at her soft, yielding flesh. He imagines her as desperate for this as he is, wet and ready for him as he finally, _finally_ pushes into her, the most intimate muscles in her body squeezing tight around his hard, throbbing cock.

Marcus groans and increases the speed of his hand, unable to stop himself, desperate now to get himself off, to relieve the hot, sweet pressure that’s been building at the base of his spine since their argument. He can hear his own breath coming in ragged gasps.

Arguing with Abby is addictive; infuriating and exhilarating all at once, and in his fevered imagination he knows fucking her would be the same. She’d want it rough and fast, they both would, they have never had time for tenderness with each other. He’d take her _hard_ , make her whimper and moan as he thrust deep into her. Oh fuck yes, the _sounds_ she would make, he can imagine them so easily, the way she’d gasp as he took her stiff, pink little nipple in his mouth, the way she’d cry out his name when she came...

He’s way past the point of no return now, pumping his hand frantically as the pleasure builds inside him, his other hand curling tightly into the bedsheets in a desperate attempt to anchor himself. Every wild, erotic image tumbles into one – now he has Abby against the wall, clutching at his back and whimpering with ecstasy as he pounds relentlessly into her...now she’s bent over the council table, her perfect little breasts in his hands, his arms holding her up as he thrusts into her from behind...now she’s lying on his bed, writhing and begging as he teases at her clit with his tongue...now she’s straddling him on the floor, hands braced on his chest as she rides him hard, her hair loose about her shoulders and smirking at him as every tight, glorious roll of her hips sends him higher and higher, oh fuck _yes_ it would feel so good, _so goddamn good_ , so—

He comes _hard_ , letting out a wounded moan as his cock pulses again and again in his hand, release coming more powerful and satisfying for having been denied for so long. When the white hot pleasure finally subsides, Marcus collapses back onto the bed, still all but fully clothed, sweat cooling on his brow. It will be a few minutes before he can get back enough breath to go and take a shower, wash off the evidence and maybe some of the guilt that’s curling in the pit of his stomach.

He will have to face her tomorrow. Their Council meeting was adjourned by the Chancellor ‘until cooler heads can prevail’, which means that tomorrow Marcus will be right back in that room again, sitting across the table from Abby Griffin, with her soft, dark eyes and her insolent smirk and her throaty, effortlessly alluring voice.

He makes a mental note to take care of himself before the meeting starts this time. As for dealing with Abby...well, he’ll just have to endure it.

After all, Marcus Kane prides himself on his self control.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There’s a power in this, and it ripples through Abby in some strange combination of lust and contempt. In making her do this, in showing her that he wants this, wants her, he has given her power over him._

In the dream Abby is in a cell. In the Skybox.

She doesn’t know why; it doesn’t seem to matter. But after Jake and after Clarke her thoughts stray constantly to this place, to these four blank, windowless walls, to the hard metal bed, to the dim electric light, to the cold air.

To the man sitting in front of her.

In the dream, Kane is much the same as he is in reality – cold, unyielding, impossible to read. He sits on a metal chair in the centre of the room, regarding her dispassionately as she stands before him. He is the reason she’s here – Abby has always known it would come to this someday – but she isn’t afraid of him. She’s _never_ been afraid of him.

“Take off your shoes,” says Kane, his voice calm, quiet.

She does so, and her socks, standing there barefoot, with the cold from the concrete floor seeping into her skin. If it is a strange kind thing for Kane to say, it doesn’t strike her as such in this moment. On some level, even now she knows this isn’t _real._ That what is happening is as meaningless as it is inevitable. The lack of context and consequence excites her in a way she can’t describe. Every nerve of her body tingles with anticipation, though for what she couldn’t say.

“Take off your shirt,” says Kane.

Abby pulls it over her head, with as little hesitation in her movements as he showed in his tone when he gave the order. This is a game between them, or perhaps it’s a competition? A war? A consummation of a kind? Her shirt falls to the floor, lost in the unreality of the dream. The tank top she wears beneath does little to shield her from the chill of the cell, and gooseflesh prickles along her arms. It’s an odd detail, sharp clarity through the haze.

Kane studies her for a long moment, his eyes skimming her bare arms, the line of her collarbone, her breasts rising and falling rapidly at the neckline of the thin black fabric that is now all that covers her.

His lips part. He moistens them with his tongue.

“And the other,” he says.

Abby peels the tank top over her head; the thick braid of her hair pulls up with the material before falling back into place against the bare skin of her shoulder. She makes no attempt to cover herself – to do so would be to show weakness, and she doesn’t _feel_ weak. She feels _alive_ , blood pounding through her veins, heat pooling between her legs.

She stands bared before him, her nipples stiffening to tight peaks in the cool air. Kane’s eyes consume her, blazing, hungry. His voice remains calm.

“Take your hair down,” he says.

She obeys, pulling the tie from the end of her braid and combing her fingers roughly through her hair before pushing it back over her shoulder so it cascades loose down her back. She tilts her chin up, deliberately looking down on him in a manner that is rarely an option open to her, regarding him with composure that is almost scornful. Kane shifts slightly in his seat. Though his face is still carefully impassive, she can see a muscle twitching in the tight set of his jaw.

There is a long moment of silence, anticipation rather than hesitation. They both know what’s next, and drawing it out is equal parts torture and pleasure. The air between them is heavy, pulsing with desire. Abby finds she’s aching to hear the words when they finally come:

“Now the rest,” Kane says.

His voice is rough, a little unsteady now. His eyes still hold her, dark and impenetrable. Abby doesn’t look away as she reaches down to unfasten her jeans, and at the soft _snap_ of the button opening she sees his hands tighten their grip on the arms of the chair. It’s a small victory, that movement, that tiny sign of discomposure.

There are _other_ signs, of course. Abby pulls her jeans down her legs as slowly as she dares, but as she finally steps out of her underwear and stands naked before him, it would be impossible to miss the physical response in the man watching her. His erection is a hard ridge, straining against the fabric of his pants. His breathing is controlled but shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his dark gaze runs over her body.

There’s a power in this, and it ripples through Abby in some strange combination of lust and contempt. In making her do this, in showing her that he wants this, wants _her_ , he has given her power over him.

Will he touch himself? Will he order her to do it? She doesn’t know which thought arouses her more, but her whole body feels hot, tight, quivering with anticipation. The unreality of the moment has crystallised into a sharp, vivid certainty, and she _wants._

He stands, and walks towards her with slow, measured movements until he is so close as to almost be touching. He towers above her, a solid, intimidating presence, radiating heat. She stands there defiant and unashamed in her nakedness, staring him down, and knows from the look in his eyes that her insolence only arouses him further.

She _wants._

“Put your hands above your head,” says Kane, his voice soft, a low growl of command. He has backed her against the wall somehow – she hadn’t even realised they had moved until she feels the cold, smooth metal against her skin. Abby raises her hands above her head, crossing her wrists in an unconscious mockery of shackles. Kane takes half a step back, runs his gaze over her body; lingering at the dark curls between her legs, the soft curve of her breasts. She feels no vulnerability under his gaze, only a shiver of desire, and something like triumph. She lets her own eyes drop briefly to the hard evidence of his arousal, and smirks as she raises them back to his face. She hears Kane’s breath catch in his throat. His eyes are almost black. His breathing is ragged – with his closeness she can feel it stirring the loose wisps of her hair with every shuddering exhalation.

When he touches her it feels like a hot brand on her skin, a startling jolt of sensation. She gasps. It is a concession, a weakness, and Kane’s lips curl upwards in acknowledgement of her reaction. His hands circle her waist, fingers pressing into her skin almost hard enough to bruise. Where they are connected she feels sparks flicker under her skin, setting every nerve ending alight, sending crackling heat through her body, pulsing hot and sweet deep inside her.

Abby can feel his breath against her parted lips. She thinks for a disquieting moment that he might kiss her – even now an absurd, _impossible_ thing for Marcus Kane to do. Instead he bows his head so that it rests against hers, and slides his hands up her torso to the swell of her breasts, broad palms cupping the soft flesh. His eyes close for a brief moment and he breathes out, a soft, low exhalation that is almost a moan. He strokes the stiff peaks of her nipples lightly, almost tenderly. Abby bites down hard on her lip to prevent any sound escaping from her own throat.

Her whole body is trembling as he kneels, slowly, his hands sliding down her body as he sinks before her in a kind of supplication. She _wants._

His lips press against the taut muscles of her stomach, and she feels the faint scrape of stubble on his jaw; a startlingly imperfect, human thing, unimaginably erotic. His hands rest over the jut of her hipbones, thumbs lightly brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs. Close, so _close_ to where she needs him. She realises that _this_ is how he means to punish her, to torment her; he will make her _ache_ for his touch and then deny her what she needs. It’s the sweetest torture imaginable, and she expects no less of him. Marcus Kane _knows_ her, shockingly, intimately. In this place, in this moment, he sees right through her. Perhaps he always has.

He kisses her at the apex of her thighs, and Abby is _lost._

At the first touch of his tongue she arcs back against the wall, a raw, animal sound of pleasure echoing from her throat, piercing the cool silence of the cell. Her hands drop from above her head to clutch at his hair, anchoring him to her. He makes no move to resist, nuzzling deeper into the slick, pulsing heat between her legs. For a blissful eternity he moves against her, _inside_ her, passionate and skilful and single-minded, stroking and teasing the most sensitive parts of her until she’s helpless, molten with desire. Her thighs tremble. His hands grip her hips firmly, holding her close. Her heart pounds and her body soars and stars wheel behind her eyes and Abby is _lost_ , she is endlessly falling and she doesn’t know what frightens her more; to think that will not catch her or that he will.

Just as she is about to shatter he pulls away, with a last, lingering kiss. Abby lets out a soft keening sound of distress at the sudden halt of his attentions, blissful release snatched away from her at the last moment. Kane looks up and meets her eyes, and for the first time he says her name, his voice soft and reverent:

“ _Abby.._.”

She wakes, as sudden and immediate as if someone had shaken her, eyes slamming open and heart pounding. She stares at the ceiling, listening to her own panting breaths slow as reality takes hold with dull, awful clarity.

 

* * *

 

Abby can’t go back to sleep. She _can’t._

She’s too keyed up, disgusted and aroused and furious at herself in equal measure, her dream vibrant in her mind, the evidence of its effect on her undeniable. She’s flushed, her skin damp with sweat, her nipples taut and tender. The underwear she wears to bed is soaked.

Why now? Why _him?_ Why like this? God, what is _wrong_ with her? What kind of sick masochistic tendencies does her subconscious have, to give her the most erotic dream she can ever remember having, and have it be-

She hadn’t known this about herself, hadn’t _wanted_ to know it. Marcus Kane is an attractive man, and Marcus Kane is an _asshole_ , a smug, arrogant thorn in her side. Abby can’t count the amount of times she’s longed to throw a punch at him, wipe the bland smirk off his face, break through his calm, studied, professional facade and get a real reaction out of him...

The image of his head buried between her thighs flashes into her mind again, and she lets out a choked sob of frustrated lust as the muscles deep inside her squeeze and spasm at the memory. Oh god, she had been so _close_ , why couldn’t she have kept dreaming just a little longer? To hell with shame, to hell with how embarrassing and demeaning and inappropriate it is, she had been so goddamn _close._

Abby closes her eyes and breathes deeply, remembering the electric feel of his hands on her skin, the exquisite sensation of his tongue teasing at her sensitive flesh. She will hate herself for this later, but right now she’s too turned on to care, her whole body humming with the need for release. Her hand drifts down her body, under the fabric of her underwear to rest lightly between her legs. She’s already soaking wet, hot and pulsing with arousal, and as she slides her fingers to where she needs them, she can’t help but let out a soft moan of relief. She strokes little circles around her stiff, throbbing clit.

_Kane licks and sucks and teases, driving her to the very edge of rapture again and again. He’s good, he’s so good and nothing else matters but that glorious, unimaginably pleasurable sensation, rising and rising to an almost unbearable pitch with every passing moment..._

Without even thinking about it, Abby brings her spare hand up to cup one of her breasts, clutching at the soft flesh. She remembers – no, _imagines_ – Kane’s broad, firm hand caressing her, her nipple tightening against his palm. In her dream, it had felt so _good_ to be touched like that again. Even by him. Especially by him. Oh _god._

Abby _whimpers_ ; the most shameful, helpless little sounds fall from her lips as she strokes herself, losing all conscious thought in the fantasy.

_Kane gets to his feet, leaving her wet and wanting, quivering with need. He kisses her hard on the mouth, and Abby tastes herself on his tongue. He kisses her as if it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, one hand tangled in her hair, keeping her crushed close against him, the other reaching between them to unzip his pants and free his erection. When he finally pushes inside her it’s as much pure relief as pleasure, and she wraps her legs around his back, letting him lift her, pressing her back against the wall as she takes him in deeper._

Abby slides a finger inside herself, and another, hardly thinking as she starts to move them in a frantic rhythm.

_He’s hard as iron inside her, filling her, every rolling thrust jolting her body with violent, exquisite pleasure. His hands clutch at her flesh, bruising and possessive. His rough moans fill her ears and she clings to him, muscles tensing, limbs trembling, her whole being thrumming with incandescent need._

Abby cries out, desperate now. Oh _god_ , she needs to come, she needs it so badly she thinks she might pass out. She thrusts her fingers faster and faster, grinding the heel of her hand against her clit in rough, messy movements, her sweat-soaked sheets tangled around her as she writhes beneath them.

_In the cell, Kane takes her hard against the wall, muffling her cries of ecstasy with a hand across her mouth. He pounds into her relentlessly, pushing her higher and higher against the wall, murmuring rough words of encouragement in her ear until she...until..._

Abby manages to bury her face in the pillow to muffle her cry as her climax takes her, tension uncoiling all at once, blossoming in hot, rippling waves through her body. Every muscle contracts, pulsing blissfully around her fingers in an endless moment of soaring release and then, just as she’s sure she can take no more, her body softens and she slumps back against the bed, spent and panting.

She stares up at the ceiling, the familiar gunmetal grey of the Ark that has been her sky for her whole life. She drifts for a while, hazy and thoughtless as her heartbeat slows to normal. She’s exhausted; sated and – for the moment – shamefully content in a post-orgasmic glow. The biting edge of guilt and shame has been dulled for now, and she can already feel her mind rationalising away what just happened. Hormones. Biology. Some psychological wires getting seriously crossed in her subconscious. The good thing about being a doctor is that you can explain away just about anything if you try hard enough. Sexual desire is quite natural, the need for physical release nothing to be ashamed of. None of this was anything to do with Marcus Kane, not really.

She’ll have to see him tomorrow. She’ll have to look him in the eye.

She’ll just have to deal with it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was only gonna be two chapters long but people seemed to like so here's some more! Featuring: angry sex!

* * *

 

 

“Enough!”

It is so unusual for Thelonius Jaha to raise his voice at all that both Abby and Kane stop shouting and freeze in place guiltily. Abby wonders if Kane, like her, hadn’t actually realised they _were_ shouting until this moment.

The other Councillors are staring at them with expressions ranging from disapproval to weary resignation. This is not the first time something like this has happened.

“This meeting is adjourned,” says the Chancellor coldly. “As of now. This is getting us nowhere.”

Kane frowns. “Sir—”

“I don’t want to hear it Marcus,” says Thelonius, holding up a hand to stop him, and Abby feels a slight vindictive stab of triumph. “I understand this is a divisive issue, but clearly we need to come back at this next time with cooler heads.”

He stands up, effortlessly commanding the attention of the room. “I suggest the two of you have a _civil conversation_ and try to come up with a compromise to bring before this Council before we next meet,” he says sharply. “I won’t have this chamber turned into an arena for your personal vendettas. You’re Councillors. Act like it.” He looks slowly from Kane to Abby. “I expected better from both of you.”

They sit there frozen like chastised schoolchildren as the other Councillors awkwardly rise from their seats. Councillor Muir gives Abby a sympathetic smile as they file out. She’s never liked Kane either. Abby turns to Thelonius to apologise, but he gives her a hard look that makes her think better of it, and she rises to leave too, with Marcus close behind her. Thelonius locks the door to the Council chamber behind them as always as they head back out into the Ark’s main corridors, and then strides away before either remaining Councillor can attempt to speak to him, leaving Kane and Abby standing awkwardly together.

Determined to seize back the initiative, Abby walks away first, intending to go and check in on Medical, though it’s technically her day off. She doesn’t make it half way down the corridor before Kane catches up with her.

“Abby. A word?”

She doesn’t give him the courtesy of stopping, instead making him walk beside her as she continues along her way. His long strides easily keep pace with hers, of course. “Looking for that civil conversation Thelonius mentioned?” she says.

“Yes, actually.”

His calm tone in the face of her mocking one immediately gives him the moral high ground and Abby instantly resents him for it. As much as her grievances with Marcus Kane are genuine, he always brings out something childish and petty in her that makes _her_ seem like the one being unreasonable, and it just pisses her off more.

“Fine.” She stops suddenly, taking unreasonable pleasure in the way he keeps walking for a moment before he realises and he too comes to a halt and faces her. “I’ve got ten minutes.”

Actually the Council meeting ran short because of their arguing and she’s got something closer to an hour, which Kane knows damn well. His face sets hard; she can almost see the irritation coming off him in waves.

“Not here,” he says, gesturing to the busy corridor. “We can’t discuss Council business in a public place.”

“Well the chamber’s locked.”

“My office then?”

“Fine.” If he wants to choose a place where he feels in control of the conversation, she’s not going to give him the satisfaction of objecting. She’s not one of his guards to be cowed by a glare and a sharp dressing down.

When they reach his office, he closes the door behind them with a very final sounding metallic _thunk_ that Abby imagines must scare the shit out of new recruits. It’s only a small room of course, space being limited on the Ark, but even so Kane has managed to make it feel spartan. Her own cluttered little office in Medical – with its old coffee cups and scrubs hanging over a chair and Clarke’s pictures pinned to the walls – would probably drive him nuts, just like everything else about her. In Kane’s office there is a metal desk with two chairs and that’s about it. There is a single datapad lying on the desk and even that is so neatly aligned in the perfect centre of the surface that Abby has a sudden irrational urge to go and nudge it to an angle.

He doesn’t sit down in the chair behind his desk, so Abby remains standing too, wondering vaguely whether he wants to keep towering over her on principle or if he’s just hoping this meeting won’t last long.

Sure enough, Kane immediately gets to the point.

“You need to approve the rationing program,” he says bluntly. “Muir won’t like it but Fuji will follow your lead...”

“...and it will have enough votes to pass,” finishes Abby. “How convenient for you. The answer is still no. I told the Council already; there is absolutely no point in rationing what little we—”

Kane interrupts her, which isn’t Abby’s idea of a civil conversation. “There _is_ a point,” he says sharply, “if you had actually listened to anything Councillor Kaplan said. The food supplies we have won’t last if there’s a low yield like last year, and if we don’t start rationing now then in a year’s time—”

“Forget listening to Kaplan, do you even listen to _yourself?”_ says Abby, her voice rising with her temper. “We’ll all be _dead_ if we’re still up here in a year’s time! You _know_ that!”

“No, we won’t. Not if the population reduction goes ahead as planned.”

“Oh, _spare_ me that again,” says Abby. “Can’t you go one conversation without bringing up your ghoulish plan to murder hundreds of people? Aren’t you even a little ashamed?”

He looks truly angry now, and Abby wonders if perhaps _this_ is really what they fighting about anyway, all along.

“Don’t be naive, Abby,” he says coldly. “You know as well as anyone we’re going to have to make some difficult choices in the near future. If you position yourself against this now you’ll regret it.”

“Was that a _threat?”_

“Just a fact.”

Abby steps forward furiously, getting into his personal space in a way she knows he hates. He uses his height, his physical presence to intimidate people and it bothers him that it doesn’t intimidate her in the least. A good foot shorter than him, Abby can still make most people back away if she has a mind to.

“Don’t patronise me, Kane,” she snarls, glaring up at him. “I’m _not_ naive. I’m a doctor and a Councillor, I have a responsibility to keep my people healthy and _alive._ Not just decide their lives can be thrown away on a whim when they become _inconvenient_.”

He glares right back, refusing to back down. His eyes are almost black, glittering with anger. “It is not a _whim_ ,” he says, between gritted teeth. “It is a necessary sacrifice for the survival of our people. I have a responsibility to them too. I’m the head of the Guard and I’m a Councillor, same as you.”

“Well maybe that’s your problem,” snaps Abby.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Maybe you should try being a goddamn human being for once in your life!”

They’re standing almost nose to nose now, the air between them crackling, electric with shared fury. Kane’s voice is low and dangerous when he speaks:

“Is that what you think of me?”

Abby lets out a breathless laugh with not a trace of humour. “Oh don’t pretend you give a damn what I think about you. I know exactly what you think of _me_.”

“You don’t know _anything_ ,” he growls, and seizes her by the shoulders and kisses her.

It’s one of those knife-edge moments, where time itself seems to stop for a few seconds in sheer shock. A handful of seconds that seem like an eternity, and then they break apart.

Kane stares at her. “I’m sorry—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” says Abby. “Don’t you _dare_ say that to me.” She seizes his face in her hands and presses her lips fiercely to his, and that’s it, the thread between them snaps and they’re gone.

It’s hard, urgent, instinct over thought. Fight or flight response, and neither of them have ever been very good at running away. His arms wrap around her, pulling her roughly against him, and she pushes back, pressing her breasts against his chest, tangling her hands in his hair and tugging sharply. He makes a sound at the back of his throat that she never thought in a lifetime she would hear Marcus Kane make.

This feels in some way like a continuation of their argument, another way of sparring; hands and lips and teeth instead of words. Abby wonders if she’s doing this just to stop him from talking. She wonders if that’s why Kane’s doing it too. She wonders if either of them are thinking at all.

It’s been almost a year, a year since Jake’s execution, a year of hating Kane and hating the world and hating herself most of all. She can feel the anger burning beneath every inch of her skin, setting every muscle and nerve in her body alight, and underneath it the other thing; every long night alone in her bed, missing Jake’s body next to hers, his arms around her, his lips on hers, the fierce pleasure of his touch...

Kane is different. There’s no tenderness to this; she couldn’t stand if it there was. There’s just _need._

Abby’s back hits the wall, and Kane is over her, around her, caging her in, relentless. Her anger is only arousing him, and that knowledge is at once exhilarating and infuriating. She nips at his lower lip, and he growls into her mouth. The hand that isn’t pinning her in place slides up under her shirt to her breast and Abby _moans_ , not just at the sensation itself but by the incredible, undeniable fact of it; that _Marcus Kane_ of all people is touching her like this, his thumb stroking her rapidly stiffening nipple through the thin fabric of her tank top, his hot, hard body pressed against her, his lips desperate and hungry on her own.

One of his legs is pressed between hers, and every little movement sends hot pulses of pleasure through her body. Abby throws shame aside and starts to grind against him, rolling her hips to increase the unbearably sweet friction, desperate to relieve the ache between her legs. God she’s already _soaked_ , she can feel it, and she’d be more embarrassed about it if she couldn’t also feel Kane’s erection pressing hard against her hip through the fabric of his pants.

This is _wrong_ , absolutely unthinkable, a terrible, _terrible_ idea, and in this moment Abby is so turned on she doesn’t give a damn. She reaches down to the fastening of his pants and he jerks back a little, staring at her, his eyes coal black.

“ _Abby_...” he rasps.

She ignores him, slides her hand inside, and he shudders at her touch as she grasps the hard, aching length of him. He makes a soft, desperate sound, straining, swelling in her hand, and somewhere at the very back of her mind she thinks: _point to me._

There’s an urgency to the next few moments, the small room filled with the sound of their sharp, panting breaths, hands fumbling with zippers and pushing away fabric, as if they’re both trying to outpace their common sense. His mouth on hers is unyielding, his hands cradling her hips. The feeling of skin on skin. The heat of contact. She hitches her leg up around his hips and with a firm, smooth thrust he’s _inside_ her. Abby lets out a sharp gasp at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it. Her fingers dig into Kane’s back, grabbing handfuls of his shirt, and looking into his eyes is suddenly too much, so she lets her head drop onto his shoulder. To her frustration, he stills, and she is obliged to roll her hips against him, urging him to move.

“What the hell are you doing?” she gasps. “Don’t _stop.”_

He pulls back and drives into her again, hard, punishing, and she moans in satisfaction, pleasure tinged with pain in a wild, dizzyingly erotic mixture.

“Don’t you ever...stop...telling people what to do?” Kane bites out, as he thrusts into her.

She gasps out a breathless laugh. “Don’t _you_ ever stop doing what other people tell you?”

He growls in irritation and suddenly his hands are under her thighs, hoisting her up against the wall as her legs wind instinctively around his back, holding her in place. The abrupt change of angle drives him deeper inside her and Abby bites down hard on her lower lip to stop herself from crying out in pleasure. Kane has no such restraint and lets out an almost feral sound, halfway between a growl and a moan, as he increases his rhythm, pressing her hard against the wall. They’re both panting in harsh, ragged breaths and every frantic thrust pounds relentlessly against the spot deep inside her that makes her mewl and scrabble at his back helplessly as white hot pleasure pulses through her. He’s _fucking_ her now, hard and fast and there’s no other word for it and it’s all Abby can do to cling onto him, the last part of her mind that’s still capable of thought at all repeating deliriously:

_Damn him, damn him for being so good, for making this feel so fucking good, damn him damn him DAMN HIM..._

She can feel her climax swelling inside her, far too fast, far too soon, and she is utterly helpless to prevent it. She will have time to think later how _embarrassing_ it is that Kane can make her come so quickly, reduce her to a helpless, whimpering mess in a matter of minutes, but for now she doesn’t care because _oh my god yes_ she’s barrelling towards the most incredible, mind-blowing orgasm and nothing else matters. For an instant she’s suspended in a moment of perfect, exquisite tension, and then the wave breaks inside her and her world explodes with pleasure beyond description; she clutches Kane’s back, burying her head in the crook of her shoulder to muffle her ecstatic cry as her body convulses again and again and _oh god_ she might just die from this it’s been _so goddamn long..._

Through the haze she is just about aware of Kane’s hips rocking desperately against her, his thrusts increasingly shallow and fast as he nears his own release, groaning at the feel of her clenching tight around his cock. He lets out a breathless, shuddering moan as his climax finally grips him, his hips slamming urgently again and again into hers as he releases inside her in long, hard pulses.

For a long moment they are adrift in languid, post-orgasmic bliss, wrapped tightly around each other. And then the reality of what they’ve just done starts to filter back in.

Abby suddenly sees them as a stranger who walked through the door at this moment might – they’re pressed against the wall of Kane’s office in the middle of the afternoon, damp with sweat and breathing hard, a bizarre, dishevelled tableau. They’re still almost fully dressed, clothes shoved down just far enough to have made this possible. Even through the layers of her shirt and his jacket, Abby can feel Kane’s heart pounding against his chest where they’re pressed together. If he speaks right now, she thinks, while he’s still inside her, she doesn’t know what she’ll do.

He doesn’t. He lets her down almost gently, disentangling himself from her and stepping away, turning a little as he attempts to make himself fit to be seen again. She’s _really_ messed up his hair, Abby notes, and she focuses on that because anything else is suddenly too much. She pulls up her underwear and jeans, her hands shaking a little. She’ll need to go back to her quarters as soon as possible, she thinks in a vague, dazed kind of way, to clean up. She feels weak and boneless. It’s only her pride that stops her from collapsing to the floor in a quivering heap.

After a minute Kane turns to face her, his expression unreadable. “We should talk about this.”

“Should we.” It isn’t a question. She’s half hoping for him to react, to flinch, but instead his eyes just narrow slightly, appraising. Abby feels the familiar flicker of annoyance stirring in her chest at his apparent composure.

“Yes,” he says bluntly. “Abby, you can’t just—”

“What?” snaps Abby, retreating instinctively back into anger, though she feels exhausted. “What _can’t_ I do, Kane? Please enlighten me. What orders do you have for me now?”

“Forget it,” he says, in a calm tone that she’s sure is designed to make her blood boil. “There’s never any point trying to reason with you when you’re like this.”

“Oh is _that_ what you were trying to do just now? Reason with me? Prove just how in control you still are? Because you could have fooled me.”

“ _I_ wasn’t trying to do anything. You were the one who—”

“Oh no, you don’t get to do that. It takes two, Councillor. You can’t use _this_ against me.” She folds her arms. “You really are a piece of work, you know that? I’d say you need to get laid, but...” She gives a dismissive little laugh, deliberately designed to annoy him. She’s being cruel now, perhaps, but it feels like the only way to be safe.

Kane looks at her, his face impassive. “So is that what _you_ were trying to do just now, then?” he says slowly. “Find something to use against me? You couldn’t convince me, you couldn’t brow-beat me into submission, so this was your next play?”

Abby gapes at him, almost too outraged to form words. “ _What?”_

Kane gives a small smirk, his eyes dark with triumph. “That is your style after all, isn’t it Abby? Do whatever it takes to get what you want.”

She almost slaps him, feels her fingers curling against her palm, but that would only be a victory for him. Instead she just shoves past him to the door, not bothering even to look at him as she snarls:

“Go to hell, Kane.”

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

This...could turn out to be a problem. After several days, Marcus is forced to admit that to himself, at least.

He had wanted Abby. In the purely physical sense anyway...so more accurate to say he had wanted to have _sex_ with Abby. There; no sense in denying that. She was a very attractive woman, she got under his skin, and somewhere along the line that had translated into an intense physical desire for her. It was an obvious fact, if a disconcerting one, and since it had been becoming a problem, or at least a distraction, then there was only one obvious logical solution, which he had taken. Very definitively taken. He can cross it off his list – sex with Abby Griffin.

So – logically – now the problem should be solved.

Unfortunately, logic and reason seem to have taken a long holiday and left his libido in charge. Instead of feeling as though he’s finally satisfied his curiosity, or his desire, or his need for control over the situation, or whatever the hell this is, Marcus feels like an addict desperate for his next fix.

All he can think about is Abby. Her warm skin, her dark, fierce eyes, the feel of her soft little breasts pressed against his chest as he thrust into her, her fingers clutching at his hair, the way she spat his name like a curse...almost every night he wakes abruptly, covered in sweat, agonisingly hard and unbearably frustrated from dreams of her.

Even getting himself off to the thought of her is no longer as satisfying as it had been, not now that he’s had a taste of the real thing. God, having sex with her hasn’t made things better, it’s made things _worse._

And now...

There she is, opposite him at the Council table as always, looking unbearably smug, as always, speaking in that tone that’s designed to make everyone else feel like an idiot. But more infuriating than ever, because now there’s something in her eyes whenever she looks at him, lurking at the edge of her coolly professional smile that says: _I made you crack first, Kane. You know what we did, and I know what we did, and we both know you think about it now every time you look at me._

And she’s right. Even now, when she’s talking with bland scientific detail about the electronic wristbands she’s developing, all Marcus can think of is that he knows what Abby Griffin sounds like when she comes.

“...so we’ll have a wide range of biometric data across the board,” she’s saying. They’ve all been sent copies of the wristband’s capabilities of course, but Abby has spent most of this meeting putting it in layman’s terms for the less scientifically inclined among the Councillors. “Although radiation levels are the main priority, to confirm our theories about the effects of solar radiation.”

_Her_ theories, in fact. Or her wishful thinking, more like. She hopes that this isn’t the death sentence they all secretly believe it to be, that this can be more than just a morbid science experiment, a last ditch effort at buying the rest of them some time. It annoys Marcus more than it should – there’s no real reason that he shouldn’t let Abby believe whatever she wants to about the kids’ chances down on the ground to let her sleep at night, but somehow that stubborn certainty in her own _rightness_ gets right to heart of what drives him crazy about her. She just doesn’t seem to live in the same harsh reality that the rest of them have to, and that doesn’t seem fair.

“Obviously that information will be supplemented with what they can tell us over the radio,” Abby says, and he’s sure she’s talking directly to him now, and not just because she sits directly opposite him at the table. There’s a challenging edge to her words, as if she’s deliberately trying to goad him into telling her how naive she’s being. “The kids themselves will be the best source of information for us regarding conditions on the ground, insofar as we can rely on the accuracy of what they tell us.”

Marcus speaks before he really even thinks about it. “Radio equipment as well? Is it really a wise idea to send down so many non-renewable resources on a one-way trip?” he says.

He’s picking a fight with her. It’s a petty, stupid thing to do, and Marcus knows it, and it just makes him angrier because this is what Abby Griffin has turned him into.

 “Oh, and how would you suggest radio equipment be better used, Kane?” retorts Abby bitingly. “Should we keep it up here so we can all talk to each other from different rooms as we slowly suffocate to death?”

“I’m suggesting we don’t send our most valuable equipment – things that will take years at the least to replace, if they can be at all – down with a load of criminals,” he says. A low blow; her daughter is among those criminals. “If the wristbands work as well as you say, it doesn’t seem necessary.”

“You’ve already argued against sending food down with them,” says Councillor Muir sharply. “Now you want to leave those kids without any way of contacting us as well?”

“Oh, Councillor Kane doesn’t want to send the kids down at all,” says Abby. “He’d rather we just sucked all the air out of the skybox and be done with it, right Kane?”

“I’m not the one who wants to send them down to a radiation soaked planet, Abby. Do you consider that more humane?”

“Your concern for their welfare is _so_ touching,” she says.

“You—”

“Order,” cuts in Jaha wearily. “Can we please keep to the topic at hand?”

Marcus sets his jaw, annoyed both at being admonished by the Chancellor once again, and that Abby got the last word in. His frustration with her is so close to the surface, these days.

As the Council moves on to the next issue, Abby catches his eye and smiles at him across the table, a contemptuous, knowing smile and _shit_ , Marcus realises he’s hard again, his pants pulled tight over his erection. He’s furious at himself for his reaction. How is it that he can hardly be in the same room with this woman without losing his mind? One frantic, ill-advised fuck up against the wall of his office and suddenly he’s panting after her like a horny teenager; she barely has to glance his way and his cock twitches to attention.

He could strangle her. It’s not the sort of impulse he usually has, and somewhere at the back of his mind he knows it probably just a form of displacement for what he _really_ wants.

The meeting breaks up shortly afterwards, and Marcus doesn’t think he would be able to recall a single word of the rest of it if someone held a gun to his head. He remains in his seat as the other Councillors start preparing to leave. Like hell is he going to get up now, when he’s still got the hard-on of a lifetime. It’s not the first time this has happened, but now he’s pretty goddamn sure _Abby_ would notice, at least, and he can’t stand to give her any more ammunition against him.

But then...it’s a form of defeat even to think that way, isn’t it? He hasn’t done anything wrong.

Jaha looks at him questioningly as the others file out. “Are you coming, Marcus?”

Really, _really_ wishing the Chancellor had used any other turn of phrase, Marcus shakes his head slightly. “I’d like to have a word with Councillor Griffin, if that’s alright,” he says.

Thelonius looks surprised, glancing sideways briefly to Abby, who has stopped by the door, but nods. “Fine by me. Remember to lock the chamber after you leave.”

“Of course, Sir.”

There’s a wariness in Abby’s posture as the Chancellor leaves, closing the door behind him and leaving them alone in the dim, shadowy light of the Council chamber.

“What do you want?” she asks bluntly.

“Nothing.”

He means it only as an opening line, to reassure her in some way that he’s not planning on using their previous encounter against her now that they’re alone – and a part of him is still furious that she ever thought he _would_ – but Abby seems to take it as mockery, and rolls her eyes.

“Well, in that case...”

She moves to leave.

“Wait.”

Marcus stands up abruptly on instinct, and sees Abby’s eyes flick down to the undeniable evidence of the effect she has on him. She looks surprised, for a moment, and then smirks slowly.

“So...is this going to be like the _word_ you had with me last time, Kane?” she says.

He refuses to be embarrassed. _She_ was the one who started this, after all. And she’s a doctor, so she knows damn well he can’t control the way his body responds to her.

“I was hoping we could deal with this sensibly,” he says.

Her eyes skim up and down his body again. “And is this your sensible solution then?” she says archly. “Get turned on every time we fight?”

“I mean that we could handle the situation like adults, without—”

Abby snorts. “Adults, huh? Isn’t that what we were doing last time?”

Marcus snaps. “Don’t you _ever_ get tired,” he growls, “of...of...”

“Of what?” Abby is suddenly advancing on him. “Pissing you off? Well as long as we’re being honest and open about all this, Kane, no I don’t. In fact, I _like_ pissing you off. It’s the only time I can stand to be around you.”

“Not the _only_ time.”

He shouldn’t have said it, but Abby’s smirk would have goaded anyone into incivility. And to his irritation, there’s something like triumph in her eyes, where he had expected mortification. She’s telling the truth – she _likes_ making him angry, pushing his buttons. Every time he loses control and says what he really thinks, she sees it as a victory.

“Oh that’s priceless,” she says, with a sharp laugh. “You really think that fucking me once means that I’m not going to despise you anymore?”

There’s something equally disconcerting and strangely erotic in hearing her put it in such crude terms. Marcus feels the edge of the council table against the back of his legs, and realises with annoyance that she’s managed to get him to retreat. She’s close enough now to be uncomfortable, and she knows it.

“No,” he says, and then, because he really has nothing to lose at this point: “But don’t try to pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

Abby glares at him. “God, you’re an insufferable, smug bastard, you know that?” she says, and suddenly Marcus realises what’s going to happen an instant before it does.

She pushes against his chest and then kisses him _hard_ , and he realises with a jolt of shock and something like triumph: _looks like I’m not the only one who gets turned on when we argue, Councillor Griffin._

He doesn’t say it – partly because her tongue is in his mouth and it’s pretty difficult to say _anything_ – but somehow Abby seems to know what he’s thinking anyway, because she makes an angry little sound at the back of her throat that is something akin to a growl. She shoves him in the chest again, but it’s not a push away, it’s something more instinctive, and when Marcus wraps his arms around her she only presses closer to him, reaching up and twining her fingers into his hair, gripping him tightly.

She seems to have something of a fixation on his hair. Marcus realises it’s going to be difficult to conceal what they’ve been doing when they leave the room at this rate, and decides in the same instant that he doesn’t care, because _fuck_ he’s so turned on he can hardly think. _This_ is what he’s been craving, this is what no fantasy could possibly compare to; the _taste_ of her, the scent of her, the feeling of her hot, supple body pressed against his, crackling with furious tension. He crushes her against him, kissing her brutally, sliding his hands down her back to cup the curve of her perfect little ass and pressing her hips firmly against his throbbing erection. No point now in trying to hide how much he wants her. She grinds a little against him, an instinctive refusal to back down. It’s how Abby does things – her only response to a challenge is always to up the stakes.

She finally pulls away, and Marcus just has time to think – _that’s it, all she wanted to do was to turn me on just to prove that she can, and now she’s going to leave –_ before she drops to her knees in front of him.

All he can do is watch, utter incredulity for a moment overcoming even lust, as she undoes the fastenings of his uniform, pushes down his clothes and frees his erection. Then she takes him in hand and strokes the length of his cock, almost tenderly, once, twice...before her tongue darts out to taste him. Marcus is frozen in shock, but that little flicker of sensation sends a jolt of white-hot lightning up his spine and breaks the spell.

“Abby—” he gasps.

“Shut up Kane, “growls Abby, not so much as glancing up at him, and she runs her tongue, hard and flat, from the base of his cock to the tip. He jerks violently, grabbing the edge of the table behind him with both hands for support.

“This... _fuck_...this room...isn’t locked...”

“I said _shut up_.”

She seals her lips around him, and he shuts up. In fact it’s all he can do to remember to breathe, let alone form words. The part of his brain still operating on any kind of conscious level yells at him that this is insanity, that it doesn’t make _sense_ that she would do this for him after the way he’s acted...

She does something with the tip of her tongue with makes his eyes damn near roll back in his head. His hands scrabble desperately for purchase on the edge of the table as a raw, guttural moan tears from his throat. The wet, surging heat of her mouth around him is almost more than he can stand, and the sounds falling from his own lips are _embarrassing_ ; raw needy groans and rough, panting breaths mingling with the soft, wet sounds of her working him to the point of insanity, and when Abby glances up at him he sees the wicked glint in her eyes and suddenly realises-

She’s not doing this for him, she’s doing it for herself. She’s doing it because she knows damn well that this is a way of getting absolute, irreversible control over him. It’s a power play, just like every other move in their fucked up relationship.

And it’s worked. _Oh_ , it’s worked. Every moment Abby’s mouth is on him, Marcus knows he would say anything, do anything, give _anything_ for her not to stop. Although she doesn’t once threaten to. She doesn’t tease. She knows that she doesn’t _have_ to, because she knows _him_ , knows that she’s won this round and that they both know it and _god_ all this knowing is too much, the sensation of her lips and her tongue and her knowing is too much and oh God, oh _fuck yes_...

She lets him slide out of her mouth, wet and iron hard and pulsing with need.

Marcus can feel his hands gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white with strain as the tide of his orgasm ebbs away. It’s all he can do not to howl with loss, to grit his teeth tightly against the babbling litany of begging that threatens to spill from his mouth: _Please don’t stop Abby please please oh god I need your mouth on me please finish me please..._

Instead she stands up and starts to pull her jeans down, toeing off her boots as she does.

“On the table,” she says, in a tone of command that under any other circumstances would have made him bristle at her presumption. Right now she could have told him to walk out of an airlock and he would probably have done it. He hoists himself up onto the Council table, arms trembling, and a part of him wonders: _does she know? Does she know how often I’ve imagined doing this?_

The table is not the most comfortable of places. They make do.

Abby clambers up and straddles him, pulls off her shirt and the black tank top beneath in one swift movement, throwing them aside almost contemptuously, leaving her utterly naked. The harsh fluorescent lights of the table make her skin glow, throwing dark shadows across her face, under the soft swell of her breasts, transforming her into something almost unreal in her beauty, cold and pale and impossibly alluring. All he can do is stare, and when she sinks down onto his aching cock, taking him deep inside, Marcus forgets all about the unlocked door, the reckless stupidity of what they’re doing.

_Oh God yes._

Abby leans down and whispers in his ear, her voice almost mocking:

“I’m not the only one who _enjoyed_ it, Kane.”

She pushes him down against the table, keeping him pinned as she starts to move her hips, and it’s every fantasy he’s ever had and more; Abby Griffin _fucking_ him on the Council table, her body rising and falling above him, her eyes never leaving his, challenging and full of fire. His gaze is drawn to the glint of cold metal that is the ring hanging from its chain around her neck, swinging almost hypnotically to the rolling, undulating movement of her body. It is the one thing she hasn’t taken off.

She rides him _hard_ , relentless, the sweat beading on her chest, hands braced on his shoulders, and he sees the moment she starts to fall apart, her head thrown back, her body quivering with ecstasy, her lips parted in a soundless cry. She moves through the cresting wave, rocking her hips against him, seeking only to increase her own pleasure, utterly heedless of his own urgent need.

It doesn’t make any difference, because the fluttering pulse of her orgasm around his cock is more than enough to send Marcus over the edge. If anything it’s a miracle he’s held off this long. The swelling pressure inside him rises in an inexorable wave, a hot rush of sensation and then—

_Bliss_. The world goes white, for a moment. He feels his back arch off the table, his hands gripping her hips hard enough that she’ll have bruises tomorrow.

And then...only the strange, familiar feeling of loss, even though he’s still inside her, even though Abby is sprawled on top of him, the two of them as close as it’s possible for two people to be. For several minutes they breathe together, chests rising and falling in a shared rhythm, and somewhere at the back of his pleasure-hazed mind Marcus wonders if this brief moment of unity is what they’ve both been chasing all along.

They’re both silent as they scramble off the table and pull their clothes back on. They don’t even look at each other, but strangely the tension between them seems to have...dissipated, somewhat. He finds it difficult, now, to even remember what it was they had actually been arguing about earlier.

“I’ll leave first,” says Abby, her voice breaking the silence and making him jump slightly. “You should wait five minutes.”

She’s still ordering him around, but Marcus is too exhausted to care. “Right,” he says. “You know Jaha gave us permission to use the room. It’s not as though no-one knows we were in here together.”

“Still. I don’t want to be seen leaving with you.”

He feels like that should hurt, somehow. Marcus suspects she said it for that purpose, but instead he feels something more like mild amusement, though he tries not to show it. She just doesn’t give up, does she?

“Fine,” he says mildly. “After you then.”

Abby leaves him without a second glance, standing alone in the dim light of the Council chamber. At least she apparently trusts him enough to remember to lock the room after them. Marcus takes the opportunity of his designated five minutes to run his hands through his hair, to check his clothes, to try and make himself look at presentable as possible. Next time, he thinks, they should really do this somewhere that they can clean up properly. It’s only a mercy that the table looks relatively unscathed, and god only knows what would have happened if any of the other Councillors had decided to return to the chamber to speak to either of them. They really should have been more careful.

Marcus realises he is already thinking of next time, not with uncertainty, but with a sort of faint glow of anticipation. Of course it’s entirely possible – as it was possible last time – that this incident will be the last of it, that Abby will simply deny anything ever happened and they will both go on as they were before. But he doesn’t think so, somehow. Marcus has proof now, that whatever this strange magnetism is between them is mutual, that Abby feels the draw to him as much as he does to her. It won’t be long before one of them snaps again. He can feel it.

Either way, he realises, his back is going to ache like hell tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

This whole ‘sex with Marcus Kane’ thing, Abby thinks, really has to stop before it gets out of hand. If it hasn’t already. Yes, she’s a doctor and she’s familiar with the need for sexual release, and yes she’s also a goddamn human being and knows full well she isn’t perfect and can make mistakes based on stupid biological impulses, same as anyone. Still. Marcus Kane, who would be her sworn nemesis if she were petty enough to put words around their current relationship, was probably not the best choice for that particular kind of...mistake.

For it to happen once is bad enough, but twice...three times...for it to become a semi-regular occurrence... _that_ is what’s unacceptable.

She’s disgusted with herself.

No, that’s not true. That’s how Abby knows she _should_ feel, how she tells herself she feels, but in truth she feels...good. That’s the only way she can think to put it, because it’s an ill-defined feeling that she hasn’t quite come to terms with yet. It’s been a long time since she’s felt _anything_ but numb.

If nothing else, it’s a little embarrassing that a handful of mind-blowing orgasms are apparently all it takes for her to feel herself again.

And there it is – the truth in all its regrettable, unvarnished glory. It’s not so much that she feels _good_ ; it’s that she feels more _herself_ now than she has for a very long time. She no longer feels as though she’s just going through the motions of her old life, continuing for the sake of it, clinging to old routines for lack of any other option. Now she’s changed something, _done_ something. Admittedly, something reckless and incredibly ill-advised, but still. It feels good to take back that little bit of control.

_“Can I have a word?”_

It’s almost like a code now, which seems absurd, but it works for them. One of them will say it, after a Council meeting, or passing each other in a corridor, or – one time – in an off-hand way in the mess hall over breakfast, and they both understand what it means, and no more needs to be said until they’re somewhere private and tearing off their clothes.

It’s been a whole week since the last time, a frantic fuck against the door of a janitors closet that left her shattered and slightly sore for the rest of the day. Abby had told herself that last time would be _the_ last time, but now she feels restless, tingly with anticipation of something she knows she shouldn’t want, which only edges the feeling with guilt and makes it worse. Today it’s worse than ever; she can’t settle to anything and she feels interminably on edge. She’s already snapped at Jackson twice. He’s obviously put it down to stress and stopped trying to engage her in light conversation, instead giving her a wide berth, which only increases Abby’s guilt.

Damn Kane, anyway. Who does he think he is?

She has _seen_ the man in question several times in the natural course of her week – difficult _not_ to run into someone when you live in an enclosed space station and sit on the same Council – but nothing has happened. Except yesterday, when she caught his eye across the Council table and thought she saw...

Abby fumbles the slim datapad she’s been reading – or rather, staring at for the last five minutes without taking in a single word of the report. It clatters to the floor and she retrieves it quickly, ignoring the heads around Medical that instinctively turn to the noise, hoping like hell she isn’t blushing. She shouldn’t be thinking about this at all, not here, not now. She has too much work to do.

But the look in Marcus Kane’s eyes yesterday isn’t something she can easily shake off. It’s made her pretty sure that he feels the same way she does right now, and the thought is both frustrating and oddly...enticing. It’s almost as if they’re playing a kind of unspoken game right now, seeing who will crack first.

So when she turns to see Kane standing in the doorway, a little voice in the back of mind goes: _ha!_ and it actually takes some effort on her part to stop her lips from curling into a smug smile as he approaches.

“Abby,” he says. “A word, if you have some time?”

The worst thing, the very _worst_ thing...is that Abby knows full well she could simply say ‘no’. She could say no, or that she doesn’t have time right now, or that she has nothing to say to him, and he wouldn’t question it. That bland, almost bored look Kane is wearing would remain in place, and he would nod and say something along the lines of _‘Another time then.’_ or just _‘Understood.’_ and that would be that. Because he _does_ understand her, on some fundamental level that she can’t quite grasp, in a way that means he can get under skin like no-one else can, and can do things to her physically that make her body feel as if it’s woken from a long sleep and burst into flame at his touch.

He’s good. He’s really, _really_ good, and it shouldn’t affect how she sees him but it does, a bit.

And she doesn’t ever say no.

“Right,” she says, her voice pitched to a degree to make it sound as if talking to him at all is little more than a minor inconvenience. “What do you need?”

She knows full well what he needs isn’t something that can happen in the middle of Medical, but she can’t help but say it, can’t help but want to push back just a _little_ against the inevitable.

Kane’s face remains impassive. He’s pretty good at that, too.

“Perhaps we could step into your office for a minute?” he suggests.

_Wow, a whole minute_ , thinks Abby. _What a lucky woman I am._

She very nearly says _that_ just to see the look on his face, but Jackson is already eyeing their conversation warily from nearby, and she doesn’t want to give him any reason to be suspicious. So she just nods curtly and gestures for Kane to follow.

When the office door closes behind them, Kane’s eyes flick around the little space and she half expects him to make some comment on the clutter. But his mind is apparently on other things.

Abby also expects – alright, _wants_ – him to shove her up against the door and take her right there, but instead he eyes her appraisingly, letting his eyes linger unabashed on the neckline of her shirt, the curve of her hips.

“Do you have some time?” he says.

Abby raises her eyebrows. “How long do you need?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “...I was just about to ask you the same thing, actually.”

Abby has to repress another smile at the glib response. What is _wrong_ with her today? She rolls her eyes and grabs the front of his shirt – he’s not in uniform so he must be off-duty – and drags his mouth to hers. To hell with playing around, Kane came to _her_ this time and they both know by now how this goes. She wants him. Now. She certainly isn’t going to say it, so her only recourse is to make as clear as possible. Deeds not words, is Abby’s motto.

It works, sort of.  Kane actually _does_ push her up against the door as she’d hoped, but his hands don’t reach for her clothes, and for once he doesn’t seem consumed by the fierce, furious lust that usually characterises their moments alone together. Instead he just pins her against the cool metal and kisses her deeply, slowly, with no small amount of enthusiasm but also with a new sense of _intent_ Abby doesn’t recognise. When they pull apart he’s got that look in his eyes again, and it makes her mouth go unaccountably dry.

She can put it down to confusion then, that stops her from reacting with anything other than passive acceptance when Kane suddenly slides his hands under her thighs and scoops her up easily, carrying her over to the desk. Abby assumes he’s going to sweep off all her junk and lay her down on it – something that would fit right in with his usual habit of annoying her as much as possible even at times like this – but instead he just walks around it and perches her on the edge facing away from the door, sitting down in the chair in front of her.

Abby is struck by the sudden petty urge to tell him to get the hell out of her chair, but the words die in her throat when Kane looks up at her again. It’s strange, to be looking down on him, and stranger still is the flicker of something she sees in his expression; not the hard, intent look but something almost like hesitation. The change in demeanour combined with the fact that he’s out of uniform makes this feel fundamentally different from what she was expecting when he first walked in, and now Abby feels a shiver of apprehension edge her desire. Suddenly they’ve gone off script, and she has no idea what—

And then Kane reaches forward, gently pushes her legs apart and starts to unfasten her jeans, and the realisation of his intent forces Abby’s breath from her lungs in a sharp, stunned exhalation. She watches as he lifts her hips for a moment to ease her jeans and her underwear off, pushing them down her legs to gather at her ankles and parting her thighs wider. Though he has seen her naked before, Abby still feels strangely exposed like this; perched on the edge of her desk still fully dressed from the waist up, still wearing her _shoes_ , for goodness sake, with Kane sitting between her spread legs, his hands caressing her thighs almost absently as he gazes at her bared before him.

She can feel how wet she is already, and feels an absurd blush rise to her cheeks at the thought that he can see this too. Her heart is pounding violently. She wasn’t expecting this, hadn’t even let herself _think_ about it before now, and she could stop him with a word, but she doesn’t. He hasn’t done this before – not, she thinks, because he is ungenerous in that regard, but because it is a more intimate thing than their usual frantic trysts. It takes time, it takes...

Kane leans forward and kisses inside of her thigh softly, and then glances up, his eyes dark.

“Trust me,” he says, as if _that’s_ an easy thing to ask of her, for God’s sake, but Abby’s retort dies on her lips as he lowers his head.

Oh.

_Oh._

He’s slow, unspeakably gentle, but for all that this is the first time they have done this, there’s nothing tentative or uncertain in his actions as he braces her hips with his broad, firm hands and starts to kiss her deeply, sliding his tongue into the most intimate parts of her body. There’s no trace of hesitation now.

No, he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing.

And Abby can hardly wrap her mind around it, can hardly make herself believe that Marcus goddamn Kane is going down on her, and _because_ he’s Marcus goddamn Kane, head of the Guard, second most powerful man on the Ark and well known guy-with-a-stick-up-his-ass, he is...

Thorough.

Patient.

_Intent._

Oh God.

She’s squirming and trembling within no time at all, gripping the edge of the desk to keep her balance, lost in the sensation of his tongue running in long, swift strokes up her slick folds, nudging at her clit with every sweep. It’s intensely pleasurable and incredibly frustrating, which pretty much sums up her current relationship with Marcus Kane. Abby remembers, with a start, the dream she had of him before all this started, his head buried between her legs against the wall of a cell, how she had felt powerful and helpless at the same time, how strange it is that the real Kane is, as a lover, somehow at once familiar and yet utterly unlike how she imagined he would be.

In her dream he was doing it to torment her, with no thought for her pleasure but that it gave him power over her. Now...she doesn’t know. She can’t even begin to understand why he decided to do this, only that he so obviously _wanted_ to, and he...

His tongue swirls at her clit, bringing her back to herself with a hot spike of pleasure, and Abby lets out a very undignified mewling noise, her hips canting off the desk. She’s pretty sure she feels him chuckle, goddamn him, and suddenly he’s _devouring_ her, nuzzling and sucking and swirling, his mouth moving in a sweet, frantic rhythm against her pulsing flesh, sending all conscious thought flying out into space.

Her breath is panting out in sharp, high pitched little gasps that she hardly recognises as her own voice, her whole body quivering with sensation. She reaches out a hand wildly behind her to brace herself on the desk, and hears something clatter to the floor, but it doesn’t matter, all that matters is the feeling swelling inside her like an inferno, lifting her higher and higher with every passing moment. Her other hand finds his hair and she grips it tightly, winding her fingers into the thick mass, desperate for even the illusion of control even as it slips further from her with every heartbeat. The sight of Kane’s dark head between her thighs is intensely erotic, bowed as he is in a strange kind of supplication before her.

Though right now Abby is the one who feels close to begging.

He laves his tongue in a swift rhythm against her stiff, swollen clit, massaging the exquisitely sensitive nub until it becomes the centre and focus of her entire being, and it’s _so_ good, she has never felt anything like it, the pleasure is overwhelming, unbearable, rippling fire consuming her from deep inside and _god_ she’s going to come screaming. Only she _can’t_ , not here, not now – the wall between her office and Medical is thick, but not _that_ thick, and someone will _hear_ her.

“Oh _God_ ,” she whimpers, far past caring what Marcus thinks, bucking and writhing against his mouth, not knowing herself if she is trying to get closer or pull away, desperate in some way for relief from the boiling, swelling ecstasy. “Oh... _oh_ —”

He only grips her hips tighter and redoubles his efforts with a soft hum of satisfaction, and the thought suddenly bursts into Abby’s mind like a solar flare that he was probably thinking of doing this in the Council meeting yesterday, that he’s been thinking of it all week, that Marcus Kane has actually devoted time to thinking about burying his head between her thighs and sucking at her clit and fucking her with his tongue and oh fuck... _fuck_...

Orgasm grips her deep inside like a hot, tight fist, exploding outwards from her core in devastating pulses, and Abby bites her lip _hard_ until only a faint high-pitched whimper comes out even as her body arcs and shudders with rapture.

She has hardly come down from the peak when Kane slides his fingers inside her and presses his tongue to her aching, sensitive clit and begins again, slower this time, gentler, pumping his fingers inside her to press at the little spot that makes light dance in front of her eyes, and bringing her squirming and sobbing to the edge again, coming and coming and coming until she thinks she might black out from sheer pleasure.

When Abby drifts back to herself, panting and spent, her first coherent thought is a decidedly un-erotic one: she is _definitely_ going to have to clean this desk. For some reason that very prosaic fact in this moment strikes her as incredibly funny, and she has to bite her lip against the slightly hysterical giggle that threatens to spill out of her.

She finds both of her hands are entwined tightly in Kane’s hair, and she removes them quickly, a little embarrassed in spite of herself. She imagines she was likely clutching at him to the point of pain. As he raises himself slowly out of the chair to stand before her, she finds it difficult to look him in the eye, still a little giddy, wondering if it might show on her face. She can’t bring herself to stand too, not yet. She feels limp, wrung out and paralysed with deep, glowing satisfaction. It’s all she can do to fight the urge to collapse backwards onto her desk and fall asleep for a week.

Kane reaches out to touch her jawline lightly with one hand, tilting her head upwards so that her eyes meet his. He’s still standing between her legs, now looking down on her as usual, and if there’s a certain smugness in his expression, she probably can’t blame him.

Abby remembers, in another sudden flash, the end of her dream. The way he had looked at her then. The way he had said her name.

_Abby..._

In reality, Kane just inclines his head, a smile playing around the edge of his mouth; one of those really annoying ones he’s so good at, that make her unsure whether the private joke he’s enjoying is at her expense.

“Always a pleasure, Councillor Griffin,” he says, and if Abby didn’t know better she might think there was a hint of warmth in his voice.

Before she can think up any kind of halfway witty retort, or indeed any response at all, he drops his hand and draws back, moving around the desk. His leaving is so abrupt that all Abby can do is turn her head to watch him as he crosses the small office and opens the door to the rest of Medical in a way that ensures no-one could see past him into the room, exiting swiftly and shutting it behind him. In fact, he almost _slams_ it closed – for the benefit of Jackson and anyone else who might be watching him leave, Abby assumes. They’ll think the two of them have been arguing again, and even Jackson is likely to leave her be for ten minutes or so to cool off before coming to find her. Kane has bought her enough time to make herself and her office fit to be seen again.

It’s a very sensible, logical, smart thing to do. Clearly what’s just happened has not disturbed Kane’s ruthlessly rational mind in any way. He didn’t even glance back at her once as he left, and Abby wonders why this fact bothers her so much.

She raises herself off the desk with limbs that still feel weak and trembling, and it’s only now that Kane’s gone that it occurs to her he didn’t take any pleasure for himself.

That means he’s probably won this round, and yet right now she can’t quite bring herself to care.


	6. Chapter 6

Marcus wakes slowly, squinting blearily at the familiar ceiling of his quarters, and the fumbling trip to consciousness is made more insistent by the dawning realisation that he isn’t alone.

The sheets have been thrown off and lie crumpled on the floor; he and Abby are sprawled over each other, naked on the narrow bed. The room feels warmer than usual, perhaps simply due to two bodies sharing a space usually occupied by one, and the air is rich with the lingering, animal smell of sex.

Oh. Memories of what he assumes must now be the night before flood back into his mind and Marcus realises that they must have both fallen asleep after the long day at their respective jobs, followed by another agonisingly protracted Council meeting, capped by the energetic activity of fucking each other senseless when they got back to his quarters.

It’s not the first time they’ve been together here – his place is convenient enough, private, and the idea of him ever going with Abby back to the place that she used to share with her husband and daughter is out of the question. But sometimes a bed is preferable to a closet or a desk; they’re neither of them young anymore, after all. Not that you would think it, given what they’ve just spent most of last night doing.

This _is_ however, the first time he and Abby have actually slept together in the literal sense. In fact it’s the first time since he was a child sleeping in his mother’s bed that Marcus has woken up with another person next to him, and it’s surprising how natural it feels.

From where he lies he can see Abby’s face pillowed against his shoulder. She looks peaceful in sleep and, oddly enough, Marcus feels unusually peaceful too. There is of course the fact that a beautiful, naked woman is pressed up against him, and his body is responding accordingly, but it’s a lazy, instinctive kind of arousal, nothing like the urgent need of their usual...encounters.

He allows himself to exist in the moment just this once – to push away other thoughts and just listen to the soft, even sound of her breathing, enjoy the warmth of her skin against his. It’s strange to think, but even after the past few weeks he hasn’t really had a chance to _see_ Abby like this. Everything is always fast and frantic; they rarely even stop to remove more clothing than absolutely necessary.

He is struck by the _realness_ of her; fragile and human in a way she never has been to him before. The flutter of her eyelashes against her cheek, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, the way her hair curls at the nape of her neck and between her legs. The little scattering of freckles across her shoulders, the silvery stretch marks on the curve of her hip. Her every inch of skin fascinates him. Even her bare toes are a revelation.

He runs his palm lightly along her back, tracing the curve of her spine, hardly aware he’s doing it. Abby makes a soft sound and nuzzles closer into his neck, and Marcus feels suddenly uncomfortably aware of the intimacy of the moment. This is not something they’ve allowed themselves, not something he’s sure she wants.

He makes a half-hearted attempt to roll Abby away from him, and isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when she makes a faint noise that suggests she’s waking up.

“What time is it?” she murmurs sleepily.

“Nearly six in the morning,” he says. “We’ve slept for over five hours.”

To his surprise, a faint smile touches Abby’s lips. “Five hours...” she repeats softly, as if such a thing is an unimaginable luxury.

Marcus can actually pinpoint the instant her thoughts collect enough for her to remember where she is. The peaceful smile drops from her face. She stiffens slightly, and draws away from him immediately, sitting up in bed, facing away from him. He thinks for a moment she might snatch up the sheets from the floor to wrap around herself, but realises as soon as he has the thought that it isn’t something Abby Griffin would ever do in this situation. She would consider it a sign of weakness, a surrender of sorts. He knows her so well, in some ways.

“I didn’t mean to stay,” she says flatly, still not looking at him.

“I know,” he replies. “There’s no harm done. We’re all tired.”

Abby makes a quiet noise that might be agreement, or derision. He’s only stating the obvious, after all. The truth is that this is the most uninterrupted sleep he’s had in days, and Marcus has the sudden, irrational urge to tell Abby as much – to make her understand that everything they’re going through is as difficult for him as it is for her, that he spends sleepless nights desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation. That he wishes as much as anyone there was a way to prevent the appalling things they will soon have to do, the impossible choices they will soon have to make.

But she rises from the bed before he opens his mouth to speak, and the moment is lost.

They get dressed in silence – Marcus needs a shower before he starts the day proper, but it seems like a good idea to throw some clothes on for now at least, even if only temporarily. There’s a palpable awkwardness to Abby that’s putting him on edge too. He can almost physically see her drawing in on herself, slamming up her walls, driving away the brief moment of vulnerability.

“Do you want to use the shower?” he says, more out of politeness than anything.

“No, I need to go,” says Abby, pulling on her shoes. “I can’t be seen coming out of here fresh from the shower, anyway.”

It’s an obvious objection Marcus hadn’t really thought of, and he concedes with a shrug. He wonders if anyone would care, really. When Abby has left his quarters before she’s almost certainly been seen, and no-one has so much as started a rumour about why. The truth is, even if someone _does_ happen to notice her, there are any number of reasons that Councillor Griffin might visit Councillor Kane’s quarters, and the idea that they might be up to anything remotely salacious would be the last guess on anyone’s list.

Marcus isn’t sure how he feels about that. Of course it’s convenient that no-one would guess what he and Abby have been doing, since it doesn’t reflect particularly well on either of them. But there is something very bleak in the fact that everyone on the Ark would assume the only reason an attractive single woman might come to his quarters alone would be to argue policy with him. He is not the sort of person who anyone can imagine connected with any kind of passion.

Abby is obviously untroubled by any introspection of this kind, as she is too busy making herself presentable enough to return to her own place. Her hair has half fallen out of its usual braid in sleep, and as he watches she pulls it loose, combing her fingers roughly through the golden brown waves that fall over her shoulder. It seems like another oddly intimate thing to be seeing – Marcus can’t recall the last time he saw Abby’s hair loose.

“The kids go down in two weeks,” he says, mostly to distract himself.

“I haven’t forgotten.”

Her voice is emotionless, and for a moment he thinks she intends to leave it at that, but Abby has never been one to leave things unsaid.

“You think they’re all going to die, don’t you?” she says, looking at him levelly.

There’s not much point in lying to her, but whatever Abby may think of him, Marcus isn’t cruel. “I think it’s worth a try,” he says.

Abby nods; it’s the answer she expected. “Nothing to lose, right?” she says bitterly.

“No, we have _everything_ to lose. That’s what you’ve never—” He bites off the end of his sentence. It’s so easy, to argue with her, to fall back into the old familiar pattern of sniping and scoring points off each other. Every time there is a moment where he feels like they might have something approaching a detente, they snag on each other’s sharp edges, tearing open old wounds.

Abby doesn’t bother to respond to him anyway. She is re-plaiting her hair with deft, rapid movements. She already looks more like herself, and he can feel the strangeness of this morning already slipping away, normality reasserting itself.

“You haven’t asked to see Clarke,” he says suddenly, surprising even himself. He’s been thinking about it for a while and the words come out more bluntly than he intended, but perhaps that’s for the best. Abby’s daughter is a touchy subject at any time, and Marcus doubts she’d respond well to any show of sympathy from him, however genuine.

Abby stills, her face going oddly blank, as though she is keeping a very careful lid on her reaction.

“No, I haven’t,” she says, tying off the end of her braid. “If I had, would you have let me see her?”

There’s no sense in lying to her now either. “No. But I’m...surprised, that you didn’t ask.”

Abby raises her head to meet his gaze, finally finished in her task. “And what would I say to her?” she says.

He’s surprised, not just at how defeated she sounds, but by the fact that she seems to be genuinely asking him. “The truth,” he says. “That this is her best chance.”

Abby walks to the door, and Marcus can’t tell whether he’s upset her or angered her or if she simply doesn’t think he’s worth a reply. It could be a combination of all three. It bothers him, that he doesn’t know. Something this morning has gone wrong in some fundamental way, and he has the feeling of a chance missed, somehow.

He assumes Abby will just leave without another word, but instead she pauses at the door, obviously deciding whether or not to speak. When she does, she sounds more tired than he has ever heard her before.

“I do understand the stakes, Marcus,” she says, turning to face him one last time, her eyes holding his gaze steadily, dark and intent. “I’m not an idiot and I’m not blind. I know what we’re gambling with and I _know_ what we could lose. But I just can’t think like you – I _have_ to believe that there’s another way, that there’s something more than just...” She sighs. “But I could never make you understand that, could I? No matter how hard I try.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to reply. The door opens, the door closes, and she is gone. It’s surprising how empty the room immediately feels.

Marcus stares at the door for a long while after she leaves. It’s the first time in as long as he can remember that she’s called him by his first name.


	7. Chapter 7

“We can’t keep doing this.”

Abby says it because one of them has to, and because she wants to have this last, petty victory. But instead of arguing, or scoffing, or trying to seize back the initiative, Marcus just nods.

“Fine,” he says, without much discernible emotion. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No. But this has to be the last time.”

He gives a faint noise of acknowledgement and returns to kissing her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other sliding up and under her shirt. The bed beneath them creaks slightly as he shifts his weight above her.

It’s the best reaction Abby could have hoped for really, but she can’t help but feel somehow disappointed by it all the same. She had expected something more. Not an attempt to change her mind, because Kane’s far too proud for that. Not anger, because although he’s an asshole, he’s not _that_ much of an asshole. But... _something._ Instead it’s as though she has told him nothing more significant than a Council meeting has been cancelled, or a room in Medical is off-limits for repairs.

She almost laughs aloud at the comparison. She’s putting herself firmly off-limits all right, but there probably isn’t anything that could fix what’s wrong with Abby Griffin.

She’s lost control. Of everything. She’s freefalling; haunted by the past and scared out of her mind by the future, working off far too little sleep and grasping at straws in a desperate attempt to hold her life together, to hold _herself_ together...and the only time she feels alive, the only time anything makes sense, is when she’s with Marcus goddamn Kane, of all people.

And that alone is reason enough to put a stop to this.

It’s difficult to remember that logic though, when his hands are on her. When the warm, solid presence of his body is so close to hers, when his leg is pressed between her thighs, rubbing deliciously against her with every movement. When his lips are stealing kisses from hers with a kind of eagerness verging on fervour, as though each might be their last.

Marcus pulls back a little, and there is an openness in his face, Abby thinks, that hasn’t always been there, a sense that he is no longer willing or able to conceal his desire for her. It’s something that has shifted between them, little by little, a change she’s hardly noticed until now.

“How do you want this?” he says, slightly breathless.

The question surprises her. They are neither of them shy about making their desires known in the moment, but it’s rare of him to outright _ask._ He’s still trying to win, to score points, to come out of this whole sordid affair with the moral high ground somehow.

_Or_ , says a little voice in the back of her head, _maybe_ _he’s just respecting your wishes and trying to make this good for you, because it’s the last time._

Out loud, she says: “Like this. Like this is...fine.”

Marcus makes a soft sound that might be amusement at the obvious understatement, but she lets it go without comment. This is the game they play now, and every move is more habit than anything. She’ll allow him so much, and no more, and he knows it. Perhaps he’s also known from the start that she would simply tell him one day it was over, and has been prepared for this all along as well.

Abby wishes she had been.

Still, this place is as good a place as any for the end of...whatever the hell this thing between them has been. There’s no need to rush here, no fear of discovery. Its neutral ground, this room, with no particular memory or meaning for either of them – the woman who used to live here died of a long illness several days ago in Medical. The room has been cleared out and cleaned, the woman’s possessions redistributed, but it has yet to be re-assigned. It’s not one of the larger single occupancy rooms, but still several dozen applications for residency were put forward for consideration the same day the former owner died – more Council business that has been put on the back burner while they frantically prepare for sending the 100 to the ground. Strange to think that even with everything else happening, Ark life still goes on as usual.

It won’t for much longer, or course, one way or another.

But thoughts of work, and the future, and every worry she has all drift away to somewhere at the back of Abby’s mind as they start to pull off their clothes. That’s what makes doing this so wonderful, so terribly tempting. In the moment, there’s nothing else but this. The brush of his hands against her hips as he slides off her jeans, the soft sounds of clothing hitting the floor, the startling sensation – that sends a thrill up her spine even after all this time – of bare skin against skin. She doesn’t have to think when she’s with Marcus. She just has to _feel._

His teeth graze her collarbone, softly, and she lets her eyes close, giving herself over to it.

He kisses her neck lavishly, unhurried, and she feels the faintest hint of stubble, only there at the end of the day, imperceptible to the eye but rough on her skin. It’s the sort of thing she knows about Marcus now, the sort of thing she can never _un_ -know, hard as she might try; the taste of him, the feel of him, the _realness_ of him. After everything she’s thought of him, it turns out he’s only human after all.

She feels like she should say something, but can’t think of what. She wishes _he_ would say something. The silence is giving this a gravity she finds disconcerting and Abby feels a sudden ripple of impatience. They’re not in any particular hurry right now, but he’s really taking his goddamned time. She should have been more specific when he asked what she wanted.

Not that this isn’t...nice. She’d never admit it aloud, but Abby _does_ like it best this way; when she can feel the heavy, solid weight of his body bearing down on hers, the coiled power in his lean, muscular frame. It’s a kind of letting go, to allow Marcus to _have_ her like this, giving him power over her in a way that doesn’t feel like a defeat.

It makes her feel small, fragile. Safe.

His hand drifts down to stroke her, almost idly, fingers brushing lightly over the aching heat between her legs. His touch elicits a hot throb of pleasure deep inside that makes her whole body tense, but his hand moves away again, cupping her hip, stroking the smooth jut of her hipbone, and Abby bites back a whine of frustration. Marcus seems utterly indifferent to her squirming impatience; she can feel every firm, tightly controlled plane and angle of his body against hers as his hands explore her slowly.

“I _do_ have things to do, Kane,” she says, a touch breathlessly, as he presses kisses along her collarbone, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin.

“We all have things to do, Abby,” he murmurs. “Some things are worth doing properly, don’t you think?”

“You’re an ass,” mutters Abby, but her heart isn’t in it. Marcus kisses down to her breasts, closes his lips around a nipple and sucks lightly, and Abby clamps her lips firmly over the whimper that threatens to escape. He teases at the impossibly delicate skin with his tongue for a while, gentle and almost reverential, sending ripples of pleasure through her body. She feels... _alive_ , every place he touches her, palpably aware of every movement of his naked body against her own, the animal heat of him. His erection is a hot, firm promise, brushing against the increasingly damp curls between her legs, nudging her hipbone when he moves, so close to where she wants him...

She’s panting now, trying desperately to remain still under him. _God_ , she’s so turned on. The heat between her legs is fluttering and pulsing; she needs him inside her as badly as she needs her next breath. Perhaps he intends to make her beg, this last time, to leave with some final victory over— _ah..._

He nudges her legs apart and pushes into her slowly, and Abby can’t help but let out a soft, fervent moan of gratitude. In truth, _this_ is what she likes; though Marcus can drive her out of her mind using his hands or his tongue, nothing feels as good as when he’s buried to the hilt inside her, their bodies joined in the most fundamental, intimate way. She _loves_ sex, the primal nature of it, that even after a hundred years of being trapped up here in cold space they still take joy in each other’s flesh, they haven’t lost this most human of pleasures.

Marcus moves inside her, filling her perfectly, his breath hot and eager in her mouth as he kisses her, and she likes it all too much, _far_ too much. She swallows her moans, wraps her legs around his back, urges him on without words, but he only starts to roll his hips with slow, carefully controlled movements that leave her aching for more.

She clutches at his shoulders. “ _Fuck_...Kane...”

“Something wrong, Abby?”

He sounds amused; he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing to her, how every thrust is a perfect torment of sweet relief and unbearable frustration. Surely this must be agony for him too, to keep up this tortuous pace? He’s iron-hard inside her; surely he must be _aching_ to let it go, to take her hard and fast as they usually end up doing, but instead he’s fucking her _slowly_ , languorously, as if they have all the time in the world. The bed creaks faintly with every movement, the rocking ebb and flow of their bodies.

Abby starts to lose herself. She abandons her pride and lets soft, eager sounds of pleasure spill from her lips, sighing and moaning, breathing _yes...oh yes...yes, yes...ah..._

She’s had some time to learn his response to certain things and she knows damn well how erotic Marcus finds it to hear her like this, how much it turns him on, and sure enough she feels his cock twitch and swell inside her, a faint groan issuing from his throat. But he shows no signs of losing control. Abby tries a few other things, and they definitely have an _effect_ , but he remains frustratingly stubborn in his apparent resolve to take this as slowly as possible. Even raking her fingernails lightly down his back doesn’t make him crack, although she feels a shudder of pleasure go through him at the sensation.

He likes it when she pushes back, when she gives as good as she gets. When she’s a just a little rough with him, just a little cruel. She knows him so well now, every intimate secret of his body, every facet of his desire.

She knows him, so she plays the only card she has left.

“ _Marcus_...” she gasps, and although she is determined not to beg, there’s no way he could miss the plea in her voice.

His name on her lips is enough to break him. She hears him swear fervently under his breath and then he lunges forward to capture her mouth with his own, kissing her with a blazing urgency as he lifts up her hips a little and pushes into her _hard._ Abby feels her back arch off the bed as pleasure lights her up from the inside, a stunned moan of bliss escaping her. The difference in angle is so _good_ , and now with every deep, powerful thrust he’s brushing against her clit as well, with a tantalisingly light pressure that makes her hips cant desperately to try and hold on to the feeling with every stroke.

“Abby,” he breathes between kisses. “Abby...Abby...”

She has no need to play up her moans now as he pushes into her; she’s gasping with pleasure at every thrust, and _thank God_ Marcus is finally moving to a faster rhythm, though whether deliberately or just because he can’t take it any longer either Abby doesn’t know or care. He’s moaning on every breath now too, and she knows him well enough to hear the edge of desperation, the strain of holding back. He’s close; she can feel it in every taught line of his body, the trembling muscles of his arms holding him up.

“ _Abby_...” He sounds almost as though he’s in pain, his voice raw and urgent. “Abby, I... _god_...”

He buries his head against her shoulder, hips slamming into her, hard and frantic, as she clutches at his back, his skin slick with sweat under her hands. The bed is protesting loudly, and somewhere at the back of her mind Abby hopes they don’t break it, because that would be extremely difficult to explain. She’s beyond speech, lost in the pounding rhythm of their bodies; with every press of him inside her she feels as though she’s driven to the very edge of climax, balancing, breathless and quivering, without ever falling. She can feel it tugging at her, dark and hot and sweet, drawing her closer, but something perverse in her resists release; she doesn’t want to let go yet, wants to exist forever in this moment of having and not having, of being and not being, where physical sensation is so overwhelming that she can hardly remember who she is.

But even as she pulls against the feeling it swells inside her like a rising tide, filling her whole body, and release isn’t sudden and euphoric as it has been before, but slow and drawn-out, almost gentle, sweetly intense. Waves of shuddering pleasure overlap into an infinity of bliss, pushing her higher and higher into impossible ecstasy, and Abby feels her breath release in a wordless cry as everything inside her uncoils, spinning into oblivion. Her body pulses with heat, again and again and again, and she hears Marcus moan; a raw, low sound almost of loss, as he releases inside her.

For a moment nothing else matters. Abby exists only in her own body, and in his, and she is free.

And then it’s over. Abby manages to unwrap her legs from around him as Marcus raises himself carefully off her, his body still heaving with exertion. He kisses her softly on the forehead before rolling off her and getting up from the bed, and something inside Abby freezes at the touch. He has kissed her before, of course – there is not one inch of her skin unfamiliar to his lips by this time, she thinks. But this kiss is different somehow, and it frightens her in a way she can’t quite reconcile.

Marcus seems unaffected as he starts to pull on his clothes, though he doesn’t look at her. Presumably he is already efficiently compartmentalising this whole thing, shutting it off into whatever distant part of his brain he shoves inconvenient human emotions in order to do his job.

Sometimes she envies him that ability, just a little.

It doesn’t take long for them to both make themselves ready to face the outside world again. They have gotten used to this, and they are both busy people, after all. It’s no time at all until they’re ready to leave the room, until it’s time for...

_Goodbye._

Even as it hangs over them, unspoken, the word feels ridiculous even in her own head. They see each other every day, and that won’t change. This unexpected thing between them has been nothing more than a blip really, in the grand scheme of their lives. Something not really thought through and easily forgotten, Abby hopes. Still, they both linger a little more than necessary, perhaps both hoping the other will be the one to say something that will make any of this have made sense.

It’s Marcus’ turn to leave first, and he hesitates by the door. For a moment Abby thinks he might be going to _thank_ her, and in the same instant she realises she won’t be able to stand it if he does. She can’t stomach the thought of being thanked, as though she has been doing him some kind of _favour_ this whole time, as though this was all nothing but some kind of business transaction between the two of them. She would rather Marcus spat some kind of insult at her, or laughed in her face.

To her relief, but genuine surprise, he simply says, “I’ve spoken to the Chancellor about the procedure for tomorrow.”

Trying to change the track in her mind so abruptly is jarring, and all Abby manages in response is:

 ‘...yes?”

Marcus is watching her, his expression unreadable. “He agreed it would be a good idea to have you on hand, to ensure that the process goes smoothly,” he says. “The kids have all been given a clean bill of health, of course, but we can’t predict how they might react when they realise what’s happening.”

“So he wants a medical team there.”

“Yes. With you overseeing it, of course. A...familiar face. The Chancellor believes that the presence of authority other than the Guard would be comforting, especially for the younger children.”

If Abby didn’t know better, she would have thought she detected a flicker of unease, perhaps even guilt, in his eyes as Marcus says ‘younger children’. But the queasy feeling the reminder stirs in her own stomach is overwhelmed by the realisation of what he’s telling her.

_Clarke._ She’ll get to see Clarke before she’s sent to the ground.

She’ll get to say goodbye.

Emotion rises in Abby’s chest like a violent, choking tide, and she finds she can’t speak. She realises with a horrible sense of inevitability that she’s going to start crying, and that if she starts she won’t be able to stop, and she doesn’t know what Marcus will do then. Whether he’ll put his arms around her, hold her, try to comfort her, or if he’ll just turn away and leave her here alone. Both options upset her more than they should, and so Abby does the only thing she can under the circumstances: she flees.

She manages a brief nod of acknowledgement – or is it farewell? – to Marcus as she pushes through the door past him and into the corridor beyond, swallowing back the harsh scrape of tears choking her throat, walking as fast as she can without actually running.

He makes no move to stop her. He can almost certainly guess how she feels, and perhaps he too isn’t sure what he would do if she collapsed sobbing into his arms.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s not standard procedure, to see prisoners before their execution. Friends and family are allowed to say goodbye at the airlock, if they can stomach it, and that is as much a form of deterrent as it is a kindness. Other contact with those in solitary is strictly forbidden, right up until the end. Even the guards are under strict orders not to speak to or so much as _look_ at prisoners in those cells on the occasion they’re forced to enter to carry out routine duties. Going into a cell _alone_ is absolutely out of the question.

But Marcus is head of the Guard and a member of the Council as well, not to mention Chancellor pro tempore, so no-one even questions his intention to see Abby Griffin. Perhaps they think he’s gone to try and wring more information out of her, to see if she’ll incriminate anyone else in her crime. Perhaps they think he’s attempting to strike some kind of a deal. Perhaps they just assume he’s there to gloat.

He couldn’t blame anyone for thinking it.

Whatever the guards who take him to Abby’s cell think, they give no hint of it as they stand respectfully to the side to unlock the heavy metal door and let him in. He has already given them instructions to come and open up again to let him out when he hammers on the door three times – even at their station at the far end of the corridor they’ll be able to hear the signal, quiet as the Skybox is now.

He had Abby put into Clarke’s old cell. Was that kindness, he wonders, or cruelty? He’s unsure which he even meant it as himself.

She’s already standing when he walks into the cell and the door closes behind him, facing him without a trace of emotion. He wonders if she will look the same in the airlock, and banishes the image from his mind.

“Abby,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

She gives him an odd little smile with no humour in it. “So this is it then?” she says, gesturing at the cell around her. “You couldn’t convince me, you couldn’t brow-beat me into submission, so this is your next play?”

She’s throwing his words from all those weeks ago back in his face deliberately, but there’s so little malice in her voice that he can’t feel angry. “This isn’t a game, Abby,” he says. “It never was.”

“No.”

She doesn’t seem angry either, not like she did earlier when he arrested her. She just seems tired. Not for the first time, Marcus wonders how much of Abby Griffin is a front, a carefully constructed image that she presents to the world to hide the real person beneath, who is just as scared and uncertain as the rest of them. She doesn’t _seem_ frightened either, in spite of the circumstances, but who knows if that’s another show?

It’s all a moot point now, anyway. He has spent a lifetime trying to understand Abby Griffin, and now their time is up. Or at least hers is.

She regards him, voice calm. “Why are you here, Marcus?”

His name on her lips hits him like a blow to the chest, and for a moment he can hardly breathe. It’s an effort to keep his voice steady as he replies:

“I wanted to see you.”

It’s not really an answer, but it’s true nonetheless. He hardly knows himself why he’s here. To give her a chance to explain herself to him? To give him a chance to explain himself to her? He only knows that he needed to see her one last time not surrounded by other people, before...

“The execution is set for tomorrow morning,” he says. “You won’t have long to wait.”

It could have sounded cruel to anyone else, but Abby nods, knowing that this is as much mercy as she’ll get. To drag it out, to have to wait for days, even weeks, knowing what’s coming...better to get it over with quickly. She appreciates that, he can see. Still, it hurts a little, in a strange way, that this is all she expects from him. She’s not in the least surprised that he isn’t here to offer her some clemency, in spite of everything that’s passed between them.

“Jackson will want to be there,” she says. “And Callie.”

“I know. She’s already spoken to me.”

Abby almost smiles. “I bet she has.”

He hesitates, but what does he have to lose now? “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, carefully formal.

Abby raises her eyebrows. “Apart from the obvious? I’d like to write a message for Clarke. So that someone can give it to her when you get to the ground.”

There’s a stubborn look to her eye that almost dares him to argue with her conviction, but he doesn’t take the bait. “I’ll see to it,” he says.

“Thank you.”

There is a long silence, and things unsaid coalesce between them, making the air feel thick and heavy. He can’t read Abby’s face anymore; she has shuttered off some part of herself that Marcus hadn’t even realised until now she had allowed him to see. The fight hasn’t left her, he thinks, but it is contained, simmering under the surface rather than thrown into his face as usual. He doesn’t know how to deal with this new Abby, who still seems in some indefinable way in _control_ of the situation, even as she stands in a cell awaiting her own execution.

“Until tomorrow then,” he says uncomfortably, and turns away. The few steps to the door seem to take a lifetime, and his hand is reaching out ready to pound against it and signal the guard when—

“Wait.”

He turns too fast, too eager, and barely has time to register Abby striding across the room to him before she is suddenly _there_ , grabbing his face and pulling him down, crashing her lips into his. His arms go around her without his conscious thought, pulling her roughly against him, crushing her to his chest and they are kissing with a staggering, frantic passion, moaning into each other’s mouths.

Marcus can feel his mind spinning out of control. He’s hard in an instant; he _wants_ her, fiercely, urgently. There is a desperation that he can’t put into words and this isn’t what he came here for, it _isn’t_ , but her tongue is in his mouth and her hand is – _oh God_ – her hand is on his swelling cock and he’s swept away by the lust pounding through his veins.

They’re both fumbling with clothes, jerking furiously at zippers and cloth, desperate to feel skin under grasping, frantic hands. Abby moans, a sound half of desire, half of sheer frustration as Marcus pulls her shirt over her head, resenting the few seconds that he’s forced to break contact with her fierce, eager mouth. He can’t kiss her deep enough, can’t hold her close enough. It’s not enough, any of it, he feels greedy and impatient, he wants to _devour_ her.

The bed is out of the question; too far away, too intimate. They stumble up against the wall in a tangle of limbs, grinding frantically against each other. They’re still both half clothed, but Marcus manages to yank down Abby’s jeans and underwear and hitch her leg up around his hip and thrusts into her in one hard, urgent movement.

“ _Yes_ ,” she gasps, her eyes closing and her head arcing back against the wall of the cell. “Fuck...yes...”

She squirms, rocking her hips against him to encourage him to move, and Marcus pulls out of her and slams back in, and again, and again, jacking her up against the wall with every thrust. It’s hard and frantic, like the first time, indecent noises of pleasure torn from their throats, hands gripping hard enough to bruise. Marcus can feel the trembling strain in his legs, feel the sweat rolling down his back beneath his uniform jacket that he hasn’t managed to shed. It’s so good – _fuck_ it feels good – although their motion is limited and their voices muffled by caution, she’s so tight and wet and pulsing around his cock that he’s afraid, the small part of him that’s still capable of thought through the haze of need, that he will embarrass himself, finish too quickly and leave her wanting. It’s such a goddamn stupid thing to worry about at a time like this, but maybe Abby has been right about his ego all along because it’s there all the same.

He needn’t have worried though – she comes startlingly quickly, a few hard strokes, a finger pressed against her clit and she shatters, clenching deliciously tight around him as she writhes against the wall, biting her lip against her cry. Another thrust and he bursts inside her with a low groan, almost faint with release.

Then they’re simply _there_ , pressed against a chilly cell wall, panting and damp with sweat, as reality creeps back in. Abby’s body is so slight in his arms; light and slender as a reed, as though she is hardly there at all.

Marcus slides out of her, shaken and trying not to show it. From start to finish the whole thing has barely taken a few minutes and still he feels shattered, dazed with satisfaction and yet still, in some fundamental way, empty. They barely look at each other as they tidy themselves up as best they can, fastening clothes and running trembling hands through hair. When they are both something approaching decent again, he turns to face her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. He had meant it to sound matter-of-fact, but it comes out raw.

Abby looks at him for a long time and gives a tiny nod, as if she has understood something, and all of a sudden Marcus is terrified. He feels exposed, stripped down to the bone. In this moment he has the horrible, sickening fear – or is it hope? – that Abby Griffin can see absolutely right fucking through him. That she always has.

And in just a few hours she will be gone forever.

“I want you to be there,” she says suddenly. “You weren’t there for Jake. I want you to be there for me. I want you to give the order Marcus, and I want you to look me in the eye as you do it. You owe me that much.”

Marcus opens his mouth and then closes it again. He wants to say...what? That he’s sorry? He wouldn’t say it to Callie and he won’t say it now. He _is_ sorry, truly, that it’s come to this, but so often people take ‘sorry’ to mean ‘I’m wrong’ and he doesn’t believe that. He’s doing what needs to be done, and if he let his personal feelings get in the way of that then he would be both a hypocrite and a fool.

Maybe he should tell her that he understands why she did it, that in spite of what she might think, he really does _understand_ why she does everything she does. That sometimes he envies her that absolute, blind faith. Abby Griffin lives in a world where anything is possible, where crazy last chance ideas pay off and miracles can happen and rules are made to be broken. The rest of them have to live in cold, brutal reality, where sometimes you have to do terrible things simply in order to survive.

Maybe he should tell her that he will miss that, will miss _her_ , in spite of everything.

In the end all he says is: “I’ll be there.”

 

* * *

 

_~fin~_


End file.
